


Out of my skin

by ineptshieldmaid



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Character of Color, Forging (Inception), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Mr Eames came on to him, Saito didn’t recognise him.</p><p>Of course, he should’ve known <i>something</i> was up, but this was a dream, after all. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for women to proposition him in dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of my skin

The first time Mr Eames came on to him, Saito didn’t recognise him.

Of course, he should’ve known _something_ was up, but this was a dream, after all. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for women to proposition him in dreams.

Granted, Saito’s dreams did not normally feature buxom blonde women of quite such improbable proportions. And generally they got down on their knees and blew him, instead of turning into scruffy Englishmen with supercilious expressions.

* * *

Here are some times when Mr Eames does not come on to him.

1\. When Saito’s bleeding out on the hospital level floor and he’s still holding the gun, _not_ feeling pleased to have proved his worth, because he’s Saito of Proclus Global, he knows his own damn worth.

2\. In the Foreign Citizens queue at LAX, when they’re watching from a distance as Cobb passes customs.

‘You knew he’d go after you.’

Saito doesn’t deny that. Instead, he says ‘I didn’t plan on getting shot in the first level, Mr Eames.’

Eames just rolls his eyes, and turns his attention to the customs official.

3\. When Saito tracks him down in Mombasa, again, and offers him a job. Eames looks like he’s spent the last six months and all his cut of the Fischer payout on drinking and gaming and really terrible shirts. Saito knows he’s not as drunk as he wants to appear.

Eames steeples his fingers on the bar in front of him. ‘I heard you had Arthur working for you full-time now,’ he says, apparently conversational but Saito knows it’s a question, it’s a _why_ and a _what do you want with me?_

It is a mistake to let any one employee know too much of one’s business. Saito answers him with ‘Arthur’s busy,’ and trusts the secretive nature of the business to ensure that Eames never tells Arthur without good reason.

Saito doesn’t tell him that the job is mostly a front. Useful, but a front.

* * *

The second time Mr Eames comes on to him Saito knows it’s him. Firstly because there are many things that Arthur will do, but seduce Saito is not one of them. And secondly because he just watched Eames pull on Arthur’s face, peering at himself in the bathroom mirror until he had every detail perfect.

‘Isn’t it unethical to impersonate your colleague?’ Saito asks mildly, for all the world as if he weren’t backed up against the counter with one of Eames-not-Arthur’s hand’s at the back of his neck and the other hooked into his waistband.

‘It’s unethical to steal a man’s secrets from his mind,’ Eames says, smirking. The smirk has Arthur’s dimples to it, which is more attractive than it ought to be and certainly unethical.

Saito disentangles himself and resists the urge to grin back at Eames. ‘Mind theft is what we’re here for, Mr Eames,’ he says. ‘Come. This level needs more work.’ And he turns on his heel, trusting Eames to follow him.

* * *

The third time Mr Eames comes on to Saito, it is not Eames but Saito who is wearing the wrong body.

This is how it happens.

‘You want to learn to forge,’ Eames says flatly. He folds his arms and Saito recognises the expression, it’s the discomfort that comes when the boundary between _client_ and _colleague_ is crossed, disregarded.

Saito does want to learn to forge, and Eames is the best. That’s all there is to it.

And so here they are, just a week later - Saito is clever, and fast, and he never does things which he can’t be good at - and Saito is wearing a young man’s skin again. Not himself as a young man: the features are broader, the eyes wider, the hips more narrow.

‘Not bad,’ Eames concedes, and that’s as good as a medal, from him. ‘Now, are you going to tell me why this particular forgery?’

Saito shrugs. ‘This face is well-known all across Japan,’ he says, and feels the unfamiliar muscles moving across bone and beneath skin as he does. ‘He could walk in and out of many people’s dreams and no one would be the wiser.’

‘Really,’ Eames says, and starts walking Saito back toward the nearest chair. ‘It’s not that you happen to fancy this pop-star chap, is it?’ His palms settle big and broad across Saito-not-Saito’s hipbones, and his breath ghosts across skin which doesn’t feel quite right on Saito, but maybe it will, if he does this enough.

‘No,’ Saito says, and looks up at Eames with wide, innocent eyes that make women’s panties melt on a regular basis. ‘But I think _you_ do.’

‘Not,’ Eames assures him, crowding up close, ‘until now, Mr Saito.’


End file.
